Morozova's Collar
by snarkydarkling
Summary: The Darkling has many things to teach his little Sun Summoner. Alina proves to be an apt pupil. Kinky sex ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**o.**

She felt the heavy weight of it resting around her neck at all times; an eternal reminder that she was his and always would be.

She'd tried to convince herself that it was just a pretty necklace, his gift to her. From the way the other Grisha looked at it longingly, she almost thought it was true. But every night, he would make her stand in front of his mirror and show her it was nothing but an extension of his hand, holding her like a puppet.

A collar.

The kind you put around a dog or a slave.

The corners of his mouth would turn up a little whenever he caught sight of it, silently mocking her. She was the fury of the sun reduced to mere candlelight in his hands. When he'd marched the Unsea south to Shu Han and north to Fjerda, he'd pulled her close and whispered to her, his tone condescending and sardonic, "Good girl."

These two words were the only thing that mattered to her anymore. She'd watched Mal die, torn apart by the volcra. She'd watched the King and Queen ripped from their thrones, the princes disappearing into the night. She'd watched the whole of Ravka and beyond, slowly and reluctantly bend their knees to the tyrant before her.

Thinking of Mal, of his kind eyes and steady hand, was something Alina avoided as much as she could. The sharp ache of pain that went through her at his memory was worse than anything the Darkling could ever do to her.

So she put away the pieces of her old life, tried to convince herself none of it had ever happened. The Darkling had stripped away everything she'd ever known and loved. She was under his thumb, but his touch filled her with surety and calm-the only solace that was left to her in this new world. From now on, she was the Darkling's pawn, his slave, his pet.

Absently, she touched the collar and smiled.

 **i.**

It started out with little bargains.

She had very little freedom at the Grand Palace where he'd built his fortress. The Darkling kept her close to him, bringing her along during his council meetings, putting her sleeping chambers beside his, and setting his personal guard to follow her wherever she went. He told her she was precious, that he wanted to keep her close. She smiled gently and pretended his affection and attention had nothing to do with her power.

She wanted to go for a walk around the palace grounds with Genya but she knew it was not that simple. She was not allowed to leave. She would have to bargain.

The Darkling was in his study, sitting in a chair with an ankle crossed over his knee and an emptied glass of vodka. The dim light cast sinister shadows on his face. He didn't look up at her as she stepped into his view. She waited quietly for him.

"Speak," he said, his voice cold as ice.

"May I please go for a walk outside with Genya?"

His expression changed from boredom to amusement. "And why would you need to go for a walk, Alina?"

"I just needed some fresh air. I haven't spent much time with Genya either." _Because you've been keeping us apart_ , she thought bitterly.

"If you want to walk with Genya," he said dangerously, "you can do it inside the walls of the palace."

He watched her carefully and Alina held his gaze until his eyes wandered down to the collar at her neck, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

"It's not fair," Alina said slowly, wishing she didn't sound so much like a pleading child. "Everyone else in the Palace is free to go where they want. It's just for one afternoon."

He raised a single eyebrow the way he did when he was negotiating with a stubborn councilmen. Or trying to manage the King.

"If I let you outside, what will you do for me in return?"

The word _anything_ was on the tip of her tongue. But she knew she couldn't say the word so callously, so thoughtlessly. She'd paid dearly for it the last time.

Over the months, she learned that he had a dark taste for humiliation. Pulling someone down from their pristine throne and dragging them through the dirt gave him a twisted sense of satisfaction. It's what he'd done with the Ravkan king. It's what he done to his enemies. She could work with that, she thought.

"I'll get down on my knees and beg you."

He might like that. He might like to see Sankta Alina on her knees.

Something dark flashed in his eyes for a moment. Evidently, the thought did hold some appeal but it was not the answer he was looking for.

"No. I don't think so."

"I'll do it in front of everyone, then," Alina amended quickly. "The people are afraid of you, they curse your name. But they still see me as their saviour. If they saw that I was...devoted to you, then perhaps they'd change their mind."

A moment passed in which he seemed to consider her offer.

"That's better," he said, finally, standing up and slowly closing the space between them. She planted her feet so she wouldn't back away as he captured her cheek in his hand. "Let them see their little saint on her knees begging for Ravka. It is what I should have made you do when you abandoned your country and ran off with that _otkazat'sya_."

He said the word with so much venom, Alina nearly flinched. She made herself look into his storm grey eyes but there was no kindness there, no comfort. But his touch was different; his touch was calm and steady. She leaned into his hand.

He pulled it away with a mocking smile. "Go. Go take your walk. When you come back, I want all of Ravka to see you on your knees, _Sankta_."

She swallowed, unsure of what he wanted her to say, what he'd make her do, of who would be watching. She gave a small bow (" _moi soverenyi_ ") and left.

 **ii.**

It was bright cold day. Outside the Palace walls, pairs of _oprichnik_ clad in charcoal marched purposefully around the perimeter. Beyond the gates stood the peasantry and the serfs, pointing through the narrow bars, crying, "Sankta! Sankta!"

Alina ignored them. She could not save them.

Genya steered her into the small wood behind the palace which was mercifully free of Grisha and any other soul. She pulled Alina's long hair into a single braid as she told the girl about her days-mostly little superficial things: a servant from the kitchens wanted advice on how to charm an oblivious Etheralki, she'd once completely messed up the kefta measurements for a Heartrender, and David had been ignoring her for far too long.

Alina smiled. She didn't mind Genya's stories, even if the world seemed to be crumbling around her. It was the only semblance of normality she had left. Genya never talked of the Darkling or the past either, for which Alina was grateful.

When they reached the doors of the Grand Palace on their return, Genya pressed her hand to Alina's shoulder, concern swimming in her blue eyes.

"I know you had to bargain something away for this afternoon. Just be careful."

"Of what?"

"Of powerful men."

She gave her what Alina thought was a bittersweet smile before returning to her wing of the palace. Alina made her way back to her own chambers thinking that it was much too late to be careful now.

 **iii.**

"On your knees, Sankta."

Ivan gave her a rough shove forward into the Palace square. The gates were once again full of the desperate and crying faces of the peasantry, the abandoned, the _otkazat'sya._ A perfect row of the Darkling's _oprichniki_ stood guard, ready to strike down anyone who dared step out of line.

He was standing in the center of the square, his black _kefta_ swirling around him like a living shadow. He watched her approach, his features cold and unreadable. She hated when she didn't know what he was thinking. She had to be ready for anything.

She was in view of the large crowd that had gathered outside the gates, crying her name, and in also in view of the rows of brightly colored Grisha that watched curiously. She knew Genya must be in the crowd somewhere along with Nadia, Marie, Zoya and David. She tried not to think about what they would say to her, what they would think of her, after today.

"You heard the Heartrender," he said quietly.

She lowered herself onto her knees before him. Even through the layers of her _kefta_ , she could feel the hard stone biting into her skin.

"Now, beg for Ravka."

She didn't know what to say at first. She was vaguely reminded of when he told her to beg for Mal's life. That hadn't ended well. Did he want her to grovel at his feet? To make more bargains? To call him by his title? How much did he want to humiliate her in front of her people?

"I'm sorry," she started. "I'm sorry I ran away when Ravka needed me. But I'm here now and I'm begging you to spare our people."

He looked unmoved. "You can do better than that."

She felt herself reddening. "Please let Ravka have peace. _Please_. I'll...I'll do anything for you to save her."

The corners of his mouth quirked up. She had uttered the wretched word but it still wasn't good enough. He turned to glance at his _oprichniki_ _,_ who reached through the bars and grabbed the screaming peasantry.

"Perhaps you need a little motivation."

"No!" Alina cried. This hadn't been part of their bargain. She found herself clutching his leg. She bent down and kissed his boot. "Please, don't hurt them."

He pulled the braid Genya had made and forced her to look up at him.

"Did you think I would slaughter my own people? Did you think your begging could save them?"

He was mocking her but all she could think about was how he had marched the Unsea into Novokribirsk the day Mal died. She shook her head.

"That power lies with you," she murmured, so no one else could hear. "I just wanted to please you."

That seemed to soften his expression a little. He pulled her up and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was slow and gentle, like he wanted to take his time. She opened her mouth for him and he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, sending a small shiver down her skin. She hated him, but she hated herself more for liking it.

When he pulled away from her, a rush of cold air greeted her in his absence.

A sound of horror erupted from the crowd, their faces looking bewildered and betrayed. She was no longer their innocent little saint. She was just as powerless as they were.

She was _his_ plaything.


	2. Chapter 2

Alina laid awake in bed, absently touching her collar.

She'd tossed and turned for much of the night but sleep seemed out of her grasp. After the spectacle in the Palace square, her mind had been rapidly racing with a million thoughts. She knew there was only one person who could soothe her bubbling anxiety, one person who could overwhelm her so much that she nearly forgot who she was temporarily.

The Darkling was both her storm and her refuge.

Alina slowly cast off her sheets, stepping into the cold air. Her feet carried her across the room and came to stop at the door that connected their chambers. She poised her fist to knock, but paused for a moment, wondering whether or not she wanted to continue this madness. She could go back, she reasoned. She could crawl back into her sheets and pray for sleep.

But that wouldn't bring her the comfort she was looking for.

She knocked once before she considered that maybe he was asleep already and she'd disturbed him.

"Come in," said a smooth voice from the other side of the door.

Alina took a deep breath to steady herself and walked in.

The Darkling was standing with his back to her. His eyes met hers in the mirror and pinned her on the spot as he swept his gaze down the length of her sheer nightdress, pausing on her hips and the on the two small bumps of her nipples poking through the fabric. The hem stopped a few inches shy of her knees and where she had been so cold before, now she found herself warming under his gaze.

He turned around to face her, a dark shadow passing over his face.

"What have you come here for, Alina?" he asked. There was something predatory about the way he spoke to her, the way he moved.

"I wanted to see you."

"See me?" A corner of his lips lifted. "We spend all our waking moments together. You could come see me anytime you liked."

"Yes," she agreed. "But you're always surrounded by your guards and I...I don't have many friends here now...not anymore, anyway…I just couldn't sleep and I thought….maybe you'd like some company...unless you're busy..."

He ignored her blabbering, his gaze dipping down to her breasts for a split second before shamelessly meeting her gaze. "Are you cold, Alina?"

 _Oh God,_ she thought. _He could see. He could see everything and he didn't even have the good grace to blush or look away._

Alina found she didn't mind it so much but she wrapped her arms around herself anyway. "I'm always cold."

They both knew that was bullshit. She could conjure up light and warm herself whenever she wanted to. But she liked pretending to be helpless before him, letting him see how small she was.

He crossed the room towards her in two slow strides and ran his hands down her arms. She felt herself melting in his gentle embrace and leaned her head against his chest. He stiffened slightly, but resumed rubbing her arms, her shoulders, her neck.

"What have you come here for?" he asked again.

"I was cold," she murmured.

He yanked her hair back painfully and forced her to look up at him. "Don't lie to me."

He watched her struggled in his grip, the glistening in the corners of her eyes, her face grimaced in pain and his own features slowly changed from cold to something like satisfaction. With his free hand, he gripped her throat and pressed ever so slightly. "You wouldn't like what I do to liars."

The pain of his fist pulling roughly on her hair and the pressure of his grip on her throat awakened something. She felt sudden heat pooling between her legs. It was like when he'd first called the power out of her, but what escaped her this time was not light, but rather a soft moan.

"Careful, little saint," he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were enjoying this."

She must have turned about thirty different shades of crimson because the corners of his lips quirked up ever so slightly. He hooked a single finger under her collar, giving it a playful tug.

His steady breath tickled her cheeks and all she wanted to do in that moment was raise herself on her tiptoes and press her mouth to his. He must of sensed something in her desire because he let her go and turned away, walking back towards the other end of the room where a collection of crystal bottles stood.

"You said you'd do anything for Ravka," he said conversationally as he poured himself a drink.

"What?"

"On the Palace Square yesterday," he said, not turning to look back at her, "you said you'd do anything."

 _Anything_. The wretched word. She had let it slip yesterday in her desperation. Now he was going to make her pay for it.

"I did..."

She waited for him to say something but realized that he was watching her with that cold assessing gaze, taking in all her nervous pauses, the flush of her cheeks, the quickness of her breathing.

"Come here."

Alina's stomach gave a lurch but not wanting to keep him waiting, she approached him cautiously. There was a glass of amber liquid in his hands which he brought up to her mouth.

She reached for the glass with her hands but he swiftly swatted her hands away. "No."

He wanted to pour it into her mouth. She tilted her head back and parted her lips as he held her head in place and tipped the liquid into her mouth. The first trickle burned her throat but before she could take anymore, something strange happened.

Either it was a sleight of the Darkling's hand or she had moved somehow because the next thing she knew, the rest of the drink spilled down her neck and collarbones, staining the front of the nightshirt a dark blue.

"Oh, Alina, look at what you did," he said, setting the empty glass down on the table and regarding her as if she was a small clumsy child.

Alina stiffened slightly, feeling rather ridiculous. Had the Darkling spilled the drink over her on purpose? He tugged gently on her nightdress. "Look at how wet you are. You should take this off."

Her breath caught in her throat as he lifted her dress over her shoulders and let it drop soundlessly on the floor. And now she was standing in the Darkling's chambers in nothing but her pink underwear (with silly flowers on them, no less). Her arms reflexively went up to cover herself, but he caught her wrists in his firm grip and pulled her closer to him.

He bent down and ran his tongue down the length of her throat where the drink had spilled. "Is this what you came for?"

She felt something inside her twist to break free but she bit her lip and clamped it down. She had to bite down on her cheek to stop herself from moaning when he lapped at her collarbones and dug his nails into her bottom.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Her fingers are in his hair in an instant, lost in the silky feel of it. Her breath quickens but she doesn't make a sound. He pulls back to look at her, knowing she's fighting with herself again. She thinks she can't get blush anymore under his steady gaze but her face heats up anyway.

He watches her face as he slips a hand into her underwear, without any warning or preamble. His slender fingers barely brush her but what he finds there is satisfying enough that his cold expression breaks into a sardonic smile.

"You're wet here too, little saint."

Alina was so ashamed she wished she could die on the spot. " _No, I'm not_!"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That's the second time you've lied."

"I'm not lying!"

"And that's the third."

He turned her around, making her face the mirror. She saw her own flushed expression, the rise and fall of her breasts, and the tangled mess her hair was in.

"Bend over," he told her quietly.

"What?" She turned to look at him, but he placed a hand firmly on the small of her back.

"Don't make me repeat myself." He spoke the words so softly, so gently, as if it were a caress, but she knew better than to cross him.

She lowered herself onto the table, watching her reflection do the same. Save for her underwear, she was completely exposed and vulnerable. She met his eyes in the mirror and immediately wish she hadn't.

He brushed her hair back from her face and watched at her as if he were admiring his handiwork.

"I expected more virtues out of you, _Sankta Alina_. Do you know what happens to little girls who tell lies?"

A moment passed before she answered him. "They get punished?"

His mouth was a hard line but his eyes had a dark glint in them. "Yes, they get punished. Sometimes, we must destroy the things we love so that no one else can have them. Sometimes we have to mark them up so everyone knows it's ours."

Is that what he'd done to Ravka? Is that what he wanted to do to her?

His fingers were still grazing the small of her back. She felt her skin tingle with anticipation.

"Are you going to hit me?" Alina asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm going to hit you five times," he said smoothly, as if he was remarking on the weather. "But it's your choice if you want to be disciplined. You can stay and take your punishment or you can leave."

His hand strayed lower.

"But if you leave," he added, "I'll be very disappointed."

The rational part of her mind told her to leave, to put an end to the madness she'd walked into. But she couldn't forget the way the roughness of his hand had made her feel. She couldn't forget how his usual calm exterior became slightly unhinged at the sight of her pained and humiliated. And though he had her at his mercy, she couldn't help but see him in her mind's eye: it was him on his knees before her, it was him that was overwhelmed by his weakness for her. She wanted that.

She wanted to see him just as lost as she was.

Slowly, she nodded.

"I want to hear you say it."

"I'll stay."

His features shifted ever so slightly. He'd been afraid she would leave. He continued to watch her for a moment, trying to bring out all her secrets. Finally, he met her eyes in the mirror and simply said, "You'll count each time I strike you so I know when to continue. Don't forget to breathe. Ready?"

She nodded.

He gave her a stern look before she added, quickly, "Yes, I'm ready."

A silent moment passed between them before she saw him raise his hand in the mirror. He struck her hard, but not nearly as hard as she thought it would be. Heat flared up where he'd hit her as she exhaled the breath she'd been holding in.

"One," she said quickly. Perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she'd imagined.

The second smack came down on the same cheek and it was harder too. He'd nearly knocked the breath out of her. She took a moment to steady herself, realizing (with some understandable horror) that the slickness between her legs had only increased.

"Two."

The third landed on the other cheek with the same intensity, but on the fourth, he hit her as hard as he could and she cried out in pain, wet tears falling down her cheeks. A small tremor had went through the table she was leaning over and she slid down to her knees.

He let her sit there for a minute or two in complete silence. "Do you want to stop?"

It was less of a question and more of a challenge. She couldn't see his face but she knew the look of disappointment that would wash over him if she got up and left now. She would stay because she wanted to make him proud. She would stay because she wanted to hear him say those two words to her at the end that made all the pain worth it. She shook her head again.

"Alina…" he said, a slight edge to his voice.

"No," she blurted quickly, realizing her mistake. She didn't want to get smacked for that too.

"Then get back up."

She resumed her place over the table and clenched her teeth for the final blow. The Darkling took a moment to assess the four red handprints he'd left on her. He hadn't intended to make her cry but now he decided he rather liked her this way. He wished he could have frozen the moment forever, but he knew once he struck the last blow, he'd have to send her away.

He raised his hand once more, inhaled, and struck her so hard she sunk to the floor again and started sobbing. His own hand was starting to hurt from all the contact; he could only imagine how much worse it was for her.

After a moment, he gently lifted her up and cupped her face in his hands. He wiped away the tears that remained and let her lean on him for support.

"What do we say when someone gives us what we deserve?"

She hated him so much in that moment. "Thank you," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Thank you for what?"

"Thank you for punishing me."

"Will you lie to me again?"

"No."

"Good girl."

She'd been waiting for those magic words, the ones that somehow healed every soreness in her. He kissed her softly on the forehead and sent her back to her room.

It was lunacy, she scolded herself when she'd climbed back into her own bed. She'd come wandering into his room looking to be comforted and all he'd done was hit her and made her admit shameful things just to mock her. He'd sent to her bed with more bruises than kisses so why was she smiling? Why did she like it? Why was she wet?

After a long while, she decided that there was darkness inside her, after all. He had put it there.

And now, she would no longer deny it.


	3. Chapter 3

**i.**

Barely a week had passed since the incident with the Darkling. Alina thought about it constantly, wondered if perhaps she'd imagined the whole episode. The only evidence she had of it was the soreness she felt in her backside the day after.

For the Darkling's part, he barely seemed to register it. He went on as usual, planning with his war committee, putting together a group of hunters (Alina gathered he was once again searching for something, but for what she could only guess), and pawning off the decadence of court politics onto the Apparat and his men.

Alina found herself before Baghra once more. The Darkling had ordered more lessons for her though she couldn't fathom why. There was no longer any need for pretense. The stag opened her power up like a long bright tunnel from which the Darkling need only reach his hand. But one didn't just question the Darkling.

Baghra was being kept in a small cloistered room (which, by the standards of the Little Palace, was quite spacious indeed) in the southernmost wing of the palace. A pair of stone-faced _oprichnik_ were standing guard outside the door. It seemed they'd done everything they could to hide the old woman away. After her betrayal, Alina knew there would be consequences for Baghra, but what exactly that would entail she didn't know.

Sitting in a rickety old chair by the fire, Baghra barely registered her entry.

"Come to see to my comforts, have you?" she nearly barked out.

"What?"

At the sound of Alina's voice, the old woman stilled suddenly. "Ah, so the little saint has come back after all."

Alina, still somewhat confused, stepped closer to the woman but what she saw there she would never forget. It had been hard to see Baghra's face at first; the dim light of the fire had been casting sinister shadows under her eyes. But as the Sun Summoner stepped closer, she realized those shadows weren't shadows at all, but rather two large bottomless pits sticking out on the old woman's face.

Her eyes had been gouged out.

Alina bit back a scream and tried to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground. As she scrambled to think of a proper explanation, a single dark thought entered her: The Darkling _wanted_ her to see Baghra like this; wanted her to feel the tremor of fear that ran down her spine and the cold prickling sensation at the back of her neck. If this is what he could do to his own mother, what would he do to her?

"Come here, girl," Baghra hissed at her, reaching out her hands. Swallowing her fear, Alina stepped forward gingerly as the old woman groped blindly around until her wiry hands brushed up against the collar and a stillness went through her. She didn't speak for a long moment and Alina briefly wondered why Baghra was still taking students at all. It was clear she couldn't see-not with those bottomless pits in her face. If she couldn't see Alina summon light, then what was the point of the lessons?

"You were supposed to be Novyi Zem," Baghra whispered at last, her voice bitter and laced with venom. "You were supposed to disappear."

"It wasn't an option."

Baghra laughed harshly and in the dim light of the fire, her face resembled a cackling witch.

"Of course it was, girl! What did you do instead? Go hunting for that magic deer? Now you've brought death on us all. Look at what's become of your beloved tracker."

" _Don't you dare_!" A violent surge of anger rose up in her at the mention of Mal, not because Baghra was being cruel, no, but because she was _right_. If Alina had ran away to Novyi Zem with Mal instead of hunting for the stag, none of this would have happened. She could see an alternate life for herself, one in which she and Mal posed as Ravkan refugees, took on strange new names, and lived out their lives hiding from the Darkling and nursing whatever happiness they could have together. It was not an ideal life; it was not one with the riches and luxury she presently bathed in at the Grand Palace. But with Mal, it wouldn't have mattered. With Mal, whatever happened to them would have been alright.

But now, that life was no longer a possibility; only a fantasy Alina could indulge in whenever she felt like torturing herself. Baghra smiled, more at some private joke than at her. Alina was so angry she wanted to Cut something. So that's what she did.

There was no reason for her to spend another waking moment with this bitter old woman. Baghra reminded her too much of herself now, a shrivelled and broken thing hoping to save a boy who was long gone. She left the cloistered room and marched out into the grounds of the Grand Palace. Grisha and _otkazat'sya_ alike leapt aside at her racing pace as she headed straight for the woods again.

She lashed out at the first row of trees, moving her hands the way she'd seen him do countless times before, but nothing happened. She'd been meaning to take down a whole tree. As soon her hands finished the motion, her anger dissipated and Alina was left pressing her warm face into her palms, begging herself not to cry. If she started now, she wasn't sure she'd ever stop.

Before even a single tear managed to spill, she felt a steady hand on her shoulder, filling her with an overwhelming sense of calm. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. She simply let her hands drop to her sides and let out a long sigh of relief.

 **ii.**

They walked wordlessly into the woods. Alina knew she should have been terrified. The man who'd taken out Baghra's eyes was standing right beside her, close enough that the folds of his _kefta_ occasionally brushed against her bare hands. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to feel the fear the peasants wore so easily or the panic that consumed the councilmen when they thought they might have offended him. To be perfectly clear, there _was_ a small part of Alina that had always feared the Darkling a little, but it was a healthy sort of fear, not anything like the sheer blind terror that seized everyone else.

There was no denying that the Darkling's presence made Alina feel _safe_. After all, if she was under the devil's protection, there was no one who could hurt her.

"I don't understand why I need to continue my lessons with her," she said, trudging along with him. She couldn't help but notice that he seemed to glide gracefully through the snow whereas she had to stomp rather clumsily just to keep up.

"I have the amplifier," she continued, carefully leaving out any mention of Mal. "I don't have any trouble summoning on my own anymore."

The Darkling regarded her for a moment before leading them deeper though the woods.. Alina wondered if he had heard her and was about to repeat herself when he came to a stop.

"Do you respect me, Alina?"

"Of course," she answered honestly. Had she offended him?

"Do you respect Baghra?"

She bit her lip. "...Sometimes, when she's not being needlessly cruel."

"Then tell me, what's the difference between us? You'll do what I tell you to, but not what Baghra tells you to. Why?"

His face was an elegantly blank mask. There was no use in mining it for answers. Alina shrugged slowly. "I suppose...I respect your authority more. You keep Ravka safe. I can't say the same for Baghra. And she's not exactly the warm and fuzzy type."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I am?"

It took her a moment to realize he was only teasing and she laughed nervously. Was the Darkling actually _joking_ with her?

"You know what I mean," she continued her case. "She's difficult." _And she'd have to be if she raised you_ , Alina thought darkly.

There was a shade of amusement in his eyes, almost as if he knew what she'd been thinking.

"When we have respect for people, we find it easier to obey them without questioning. We simply trust that they know what's best."

Alina wasn't sure where he was going with this but she had the sneaking suspicion that by the time he finished lecturing her, she'd be reluctantly walking back to Baghra the finish her lesson.

"If you don't care for what Baghra wants," he continued, "then you'll at least do what I tell you to. For example, if I asked you to kneel in the snow, would you do it?."

"Probably," she replied, without giving it much thought. She didn't know what made her say it but as soon as the word left her mouth, she knew it was true. She'd do anything he asked her to, though she wasn't entirely sure _why_.

He watched her for a moment, as if calculating something. "Then, kneel."

This time, Alina did not need a rough shove from Ivan nor did she need her people threatened by his _nichevo'ya_. This time, when she lowered herself into the cold snow, it was entirely voluntarily. It was hard to tell which of them was more surprised by this gesture.

The soft blanket of snow cushioned her knees but the coldness quickly seeped into the fabric of her kefta. She looked up at the Darkling, but his face was unreadable.

"How long do you want me to kneel?"

A pause.

"Until I tell you to get up."

She could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile as she watched him turn and glide slowly out of the woods, leaving her utterly alone in the bitter cold.

 **iii.**

Alina wasn't sure how long she knelt there. It could have been an hour or only ten minutes. It was hard to keep track of the time when the cold cut into her like a sharp knife. Her knees felt like large block of ice, an extension of the ground beneath her. Her lips were chapped, her teeth were chattering incessantly, and there was a throbbing ache in her thighs from holding the position.

The only thing that stopped her from standing up and walking back into the warm and cozy confines of the Grand Palace was the thought of the Darkling returning and finding her just as he'd left her. Alina didn't know why it was so important that he found her like that; she only knew that there was a growing sense of pride in her little heart at the thought of it.

When the Darkling finally returned, his footfalls were completely silently. If it wasn't for the way his black _kefta_ stuck out against the white snow, he'd nearly have been invisible. There was a faint hint of something in his grey eyes, something like surprise. Or confusion.

He went to stand directly in front of her. At the sight of him, her knees begged to be released, but she didn't dare get up.

"Why?" He asked. "You could have gotten up and left anytime you wanted to. I certainly wasn't going to punish you stopped. And what if I hadn't come? Would you have knelt here until you froze to death?"

"I knew you'd come back." Alina said simply. "You weren't going to just let me die."

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "Do you want to give up?"

"No," she answered, rather quickly. A part of her brain chastised her for being stubborn.

"If I asked you to kneel here for another hour, would you do it?"

 _An hour?!_ There was no way she could kneel for another hour; her knees were already shaking from exertion. Even if she did manage to hang on, she would certainly return with frostbite or pneumonia. Surely, he was being hypothetical?

She wanted to tell him _No_. She wanted to tell him he was mad. But what came out of her mouth was, "If you wanted me to."

He crouched down before her, his steady gaze studying the quiver in her legs, her chattering teeth, and redness of her nose. He gently the collar at the base of her throat.

"Is it so important that you do as I tell you to?"

It was a question Alina had been asking herself for however long she'd been left kneeling there. She'd been unable to come up with any rational explanation so she quietly mumbled about the only thing that had kept her going.

"I wanted to make you proud," she told him. "I wanted you to tell me I was...a good girl."

It seemed so childish when she voiced the thought out loud. He didn't say anything but continued to watch her with those mercilessly grey eyes. The blush creeping into her face was enough to warm her for a bit. Surely, she had said something stupid? Something that had offended him?

But the Darkling didn't scold her nor did he laugh. He stood up and offered her his hand. "You can stand now, Alina."

Gratefully, and with a bit of disbelief, Alina reached for his long slender fingers and was immediately calmed by the contact. He helped her back to the Grand Palace and set her carefully in front of the fireplace in her room.

Alina was sure he was going to call the servants in to see to her but he stayed. He draped a blanket over her huddled form and even set a cup of steaming tea by the table. She was too shocked to speak.

"Thank you," she mumbled finally. She was slowly gaining sensation back into her knees and her teeth were no longer chattering. The tea was warm in her hands and she slowly blew on the steam as she watched him.

He smiled softly at her. "I made you kneel in the cold and you're thanking me?"

She slowly took a sip to delay answering. She was saved the trouble when he reached forward and brushed away a stray lock of hair. "Such a sweet little girl, aren't you?"

Those words, more than the heat of the fire or the tea in her hands, was what had warmed her the most. She closed her eyes, instinctively, basking in the feeling of surety and safety that reverberated through her at the lightest of his touch.

 **iv.**

"You will continue your lessons with Baghra." He stated it like it was a fact.

"Baghra can't see anymore," said Alina evenly, keeping any accusations out of her tone.

"Your summoning needs work. She will teach you."

She simply nodded her head, deciding it was best not to argue. When she looked up, she was surprised to see the Darkling was watching her expectantly, as if waiting for something.

"I mean...okay, yes, I'll continue to see Baghra," she amended.

"Good."

 **v.**

Later on, as she was getting ready for bed, Alina wondered if these lessons were more for Baghra than for her; a vindictive challenge to show her he was unstoppable. He'd caught Alina and the stag after all, and what was more, he'd collared her and expanded the Fold like he'd always wanted to.

The Darkling wanted to punish Baghra too.

 **vi.**

She dreamt she was doe, picking at brambles in the woods. A dark figure emerged and gently stroked her face. _Such a sweet little girl_ , he whispered.

In her sleep, Alina smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

**i.**

Slowly, but surely, Alina glimpsed a different side of the Darkling, the side she'd known during her first months at the Little Palace. She remembered their earliest moments together when he told her she was the first glimmer of hope he'd had in a long time. Of course, all of that had been for show; a facade he slipped on to distract and seduce her. Everytime she thought back to the way her heart had soared and dived at the thought of his kiss by the lake, her cheeks burned with shame.

Alina still believed the Darkling had his masks, but she wondered if not every word of kindness had been illusory. _The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak_.

The anger that drove him to punish and humiliate her for running off had slowly started to fade. He'd always feel a little hurt about it, of course, especially when she'd run into the arms of that _otkazat'sya_ tracker, though he'd never admit it anyone. The Darkling held long grudges. But his penchant for silently mocking her gave way to a genuine willingness to teach the Sankta about the virtues he thought she ought to abide by.

She corrected herself when she nodded, even if she wasn't speaking to him. She took a strange pleasure in doing the small tasks he'd set for her. She stopped lying to herself and admitted that perhaps she _did_ enjoy the thrill that went through her when his eyes strayed from his maps to the collar at her throat.

She vaguely knew, of course, (how could she not?) that power was a fragile balance. It was easy to conquer new lands, but difficult to erect stability. The bordering villages of Shu Han had seen the first of a handful of uprisings and word had spread that the Fjerdans were planning to drive their ships into the ports of West Ravka. However unlikely it seemed, if their enemies breached the walls of Os Alta, they would not hesitate to impale her head on a spike or burn her on a pyre in the Palace Square.

There was much anxiety in contemplating the future, but it was better than the bitter wound that opened up at the thought of the past. So Alina was content on focusing instead on pleasing the Darkling.

Everyone it seemed, indulged in a fantasy. The serfs believed the Sankta would save them and the Sankta believed she was loved tenderly by the devil who'd captured her.

 **ii.**

Alina's lessons with Baghra had not been as fruitless as she'd imagined. The blind woman could still summon darkness like black ribbons and every time one of them brushed up against the light Alina had conjured, Baghra knew of its intensity, of its range, of its weaknesses.

"Focus!" She would say. Focus, focus, focus. It was one lesson Alina couldn't master, not when her thoughts strayed so often to the Darkling.

When her afternoon lessons with Baghra were over, her evening lessons with the Darkling would begin. He didn't strictly call them 'lessons', but Alina got accustomed to thinking of them that way. She would make her way through the gilded halls of the palace, a slight spring her step and her heart clamouring wildly with anticipation. After soaking in a tub of hot water and lavender-scented salts she'd acquired from Genya, Alina would brush her hair into a single braid and wait patiently in her room.

The Darkling didn't always come. In fact, with their enemies plotting some kind of attack before the winter set in, he was usually travelling between the Fold and the borders or talking with his men in the war room. There were many nights when she stayed awake, waiting wistfully for that telltale knock on the door that connected their rooms only to go to bed, disappointed and resentful.

"Braid your hair and wait for me," he'd said. It was the first and last time he had told her in advance that he'd be visiting her rooms.

"Why?"

"Because there's something I want to teach you."

"So I have lessons with you too, now?"

His lips held the suggestion of a smile. "Of a sort."

She didn't know what to expect that first night. His knock was so soft, she almost didn't hear it. When he walked into her rooms, his dark imposing figure looked strange against the cozy decor. Alina wondered if the night would end with her bent over and with bruises running over her backside and a rush of excitement went through her.

He took a moment to survey the room before him and Alina was grateful the servants had come in earlier to tidy it up.

"Baghra tells me you've been having trouble focusing in her lessons."

She tried to hide her disappointment at this turn in conversation but he saw it on her face nonetheless. "I guess I've had a lot on my mind lately."

His cool slate eyes moved over her and she shifted nervously on the spot. She knew when she was being studied.

"What's been distracting you?"

Alina could've sworn she saw the corners of his lips lift a little as if he knew _exactly_ what had been distracting her. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Just the future…" She trailed off vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press.

"Of course," said the Darkling, sounding unconvinced.

"So what did you want to teach me?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Focus."

"Oh," she said, her shoulders dipping a little. So he was continuing Baghra's lessons after all.

"What were you expecting?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing. Let's get started."

He regarded her reproachfully. "I'll decide when we start."

There was something authoritative in his tone (or at least, more authoritative than usual) that had her skin tingling. She stood before him, hands clasped together, shoulders straight, and with her braided hair brushing up against her collar and he surveyed her.

"Lean up against the bedpost and put your hands above your head," he said, nodding to the four-poster bed behind her.

She quickly acquiesced and did as she was told. The carved wood was cool under her touch in contrast to the heat she felt humming through her. The look she gave him was full of reckless intensity, as if all her secret desires were painted plainly on her face. His slate eyes revealed nothing and she wondered briefly if he ever truly felt anything human at all.

He took a calculated step forward and her breath quickened every so slightly, her chest rising and falling as if her lungs couldn't quite get enough air. He placed his hands around her wrists, twisting them higher in place. The familiar surge of calm washed over her at the Darkling's touch, like a rushing river. She wanted to lean into him, to touch him long enough to follow that river wherever it led. His eyes seemed to carve into her.

"Focus, Alina," he said, simply. "Whatever I do to you, don't move, don't speak, don't even think."

She had to use all her self-restraint not to quiver at this new command. She suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. He was still dressed in his black _kefta_ , looking regal as ever and his face giving nothing away. Yet, here she was, in yet-another sheer nightdress, struggling to breathe properly.

His slender hands trailed down her bare arms, then down her sides and then rested against the curve of her hips, never breaking eye contact. The space between her legs suddenly felt very empty and she silently begged him to touch her there but his hands resumed their tour of her sides as if he wanted to memorize the shape of her curves.

On his way back up her sides, he slipped his hands under her dress and cupped each of her breasts. She nearly gasped in delight but passed it off as a heavy breath. The material of her bra was thin enough that she could feel every change in pressure. With one deft movement-one he must have had years to master, no doubt-the clasp of her bra came undone and she barely had time to prepare herself before she felt those gentle hands pinching her nipples.

This time, she need gasp. It was a quiet, desperate sound, but in the small space between them, it was loud to her ears.

"I told you not to make a sound."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He pinched her again, but more roughly than before. "What did I just say?"

She swallowed the moan in her throat. She could no longer tell if she was in pain or ecstasy, but she knew better than to answer him again. They stood like that for a tense moment, her nipples still in the mercy of his fingers before he released her and resumed his exploration.

He moved closer, his slender and muscled form pressing up against her. One hand casually massaged the nipple he'd been abusing while the other dipped lower and found the backs of her thighs. His tongue sampled the spot between her neck and shoulder, perilously close to where the collar rested. As he lapped at that spot territorially, she felt his hardness against her thigh.

Just the thought of making him unravel this way sent a jolt of exhilaration through her. She felt her hands slip lower on the bedpost, wanting desperately to touch him, but afraid (and perhaps a little excited?) at what he'd do to her if she moved.

A slow ache started to build and coil inside her, her hips unconsciously starting to rock against him. He bit her neck, right over the spot he'd been claiming with his tongue and she lost all sense of place and time. He'd told her not to move, not to speak, not to think but all she knew in that moment was that she needed to be filled. The ache inside her was growing to intense, she could barely stand it.

She was nearly trembling with need as she held him, one hand roaming in his hair, the other groping blindly for the only thing she knew could fill her.

He stilled for a moment.

Then he pulled away from her abruptly and struck her across the face.

Alina froze in shock and the sting of pain bloomed on her cheek. They were both breathing hard. He watched her silently for a moment before she corrected her position on the bedpost and tried to look as dignified as possible.

"Do you want to stop?" His voice was gentle, but the challenge was still there.

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head.

He brushed his lips against hers. "I'll reward you if you learn your lesson."

Her eyes fluttered shut. The thought of being rewarded by him was enough to warm her.

"We'll start from the beginning," he said, placing his hands over her wrists once more. He repeated the same movements, the same mapping of her body.

She tried to keep herself still, tried to remind herself that if she could behave then she might get what she wanted so badly in the first place. He massaged her breasts again, lapped at her neck, slowly torturing her with pleasure. How was it possible that something that felt so good could be torture? How was it possible that his painful pinching could feel so good? His touch had scrambled all the wires in her brain.

The Darkling pushed her nightdress up over her shoulders, blinding her. He captured a nipple with his mouth and started the languorous process of licking and biting her. She couldn't see where he was going to touch her next, and with what. She wanted to moan to cry out-in pleasure or pain, she wasn't sure anymore-but she swallowed them all down.

 _Focus, Alina._

She wanted to buck her hips, to rub herself all over him, to tell him (in no uncertain terms) that she needed him inside her. It was tempting (oh so tempting) to do just that, especially with his warm tongue circling those sensitive spots; especially with his cool fingertips pressing against her inner thighs, so perilously close to where she wanted them the most.

Deliberately, he brushed his fingers against that aching spot between her thighs, but never for more than a second. He swatted her slit a few times, secretly thrilled to discover how wet she was. She could barely stand that-the feeling of pressure that she craved only to have it taken away a moment later.

It was sweet, sweet torment and he knew it. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of her reward and of his command that seemed more and more monumental with each passing second: _Focus, Alina._

Just when she thought she was reaching the end of her rope, he finished his torment with a final swat and pulled her nightdress back down.

She was grateful to have her sight back and she took in the sharp angles of his features, the soft curve of his lips. She was panting as if she'd run a marathon but his breath was as steady as his gaze.

"What do you want, Alina?"

"Fuck me," she whispered, the words out of her lips before she could think the better of them. Her own voice sounded so alien to her, so high-pitched and wanton. What had he done to her?

He seemed to consider this for a moment but pressed his lips into a hard line. "I don't think so. You moved too many times."

"Please," she begged. "I'll be good."

This earned her a chuckle. "You're an apt pupil but you still have so much more to learn. You lack discipline."

"I can be disciplined. You only had to hit me once." She had so little to bargain with but she had a desperate need that only he could satiate.

"If you were truly disciplined, I wouldn't have had to hit you at all."

A part of her wanted to scream. He'd gotten her all winded up and now he wasn't going to release her? She swallowed the words in her mouth and stared blankly ahead. He watched her again, as if waiting for something but she remained silent; no begging, no excuses, no bargains, not even a mild tantrum.

Gently, he slipped his hand into her soaked underwear and let his fingers rest against her clit. She let out a little moan at the contact and held his arms for support.

"You want to cum, little saint? Go ahead."

He was going to make her do the moving. It would be more humiliating that way. It would take so little effort for him to rub his fingers against her slick sex, but it was more debasing to watch her rock her hips against him, make her admit how much she wanted this.

She barely even hesitated, her mind consumed by a single need. She gripped herself against him and rode his fingers desperately, resolutely, shamelessly. It couldn't have been more than five strokes before she felt herself explode in ecstasy, waves of pleasure humming through her as she trembled in his arms.

She wanted to say his name, to whisper it like it was a prayer, but she didn't know it. He held her in his arms until the last of her climax left her and she felt into him like a limp doll. They rested against each other for a moment before he pulled away and regarded her.

Alina was so tired she was sure she'd collapse on the floor but she made herself stand tall again.

"And what do we say," he asked, "when someone gives us what we deserve?"

"Thank you."

 **iii.**

Before he left, he let his fingers trail over her collar.

"Next time," he whispered, "I don't want you to be wearing anything."


End file.
